Once
by Isolith
Summary: Fragmented moments from a horrible day.


**/ONCE/**

 _Summary: Fragmented moments from a horrible day._

 _This was written for a friend. Hope you enjoy Bunny =)_

…

 **/1/**

 _Once, dissonance smiled._

The onshore wind carried a fresh tang of nostalgia; strong in humidity with a taste of salt while waves rolled ashore with brash roars. The familiarity of sun heated sand beneath his feet ensconced in subtropical warmth beckoned him out into the water, . tThe sand was damp and cooler at the edge of the beach. With longing, his eyes briefly rested on the calm horizon in the distance before he refocused on the small figure of his captain crawling through the water just ten meters from the shore. In another reality he would have joined her, however in this reality; 'duty called', he thought with a snip of annoyance. Their profession effectively putting a sour end to this otherwise perfect Saturday.

The Captain had deliberately left her phone back at her apartment and neither Taylor nor Provenza had been able to get a hold of her. It was an unlikely occurrence, and in the end it had resulted in Provenza passing on the job of locating their Captain to Andy. She was uncharacteristically offline, far from the city and people. There was no doubt that it was Sharon Raydor swimming out there, not to Andy. She had left a trail of clues easy to interpret; Rusty's text message about her favorite swimming spot, her lonesome car in the parking lot just beyond the sand dunes, and the familiar sandals lying in the sand next to a purple-colored beach towel. Andy could easily interpret the clues, they practically screamed; 'leave me alone!'.

He wondered how others would approach her on a day like this. Yell for her attention by the shore? Wait for her by the beach towel she had neatly laid out next to a couple of sandals and a bottle of water? Others might have chosen differently, however Andy Flynn had chosen to stand with his feet half in the water, leather shoes and socks in one hand and his pant sleeves rolled up, while he waited for her to finish her laps.

Submerged in the calming water, Andy imagined she felt she was in a different world; far from the manipulating immoral criminals they met, and far from the gore they saw in some of the crime scenes. And far from the vestiges of their last conversation. The wrong word laced with sarcasm caused more stir than he had imagined. It all bore down to one simple fact; he did not understand why she was still married. Sometimes it took a couple of missteps for him to fully understand the workings of her mind, even if he was better than most at reading her expressions. Now he knew that particularly delicate subjects were not up for casual commentary, at least not to him – or maybe, he reflected, not when they were both on-duty.

Time seemed to have a different pace on the beach, it was more in sync with nature; tuned into the cries of seagulls and the rhythmic flow of water breaking against the shoreline. Little by little, he became entranced himself, the world coming to a standstill around the sphere of his thoughts. Introspective, he thought.

Her figure made a striking pose against the background of solitude when she finally made her way out of the water. Andy formally straightened up and kept his expression neutral. She rose out of the water gracefully, her slender figure enveloped in a purple swimming suit. Andy watched her. A small knot formed in his chest as she came closer, her movements quickening up when she saw him.

"Lieutenant Flynn?" she addressed him when she came within hearing distance. Her eyes took him in with a distanced expression, her mouth pressing together as she took off her swimming cap.

"Provenza called me," Andy explained in a hurry. "We're being called in on a case. A small explosion of some sorts and what appears to be one body."

"And it couldn't have waited half an hour for me to get back home?" There was a stress in her voice that told him she liked that scenario better.

Andy ignored the tone.

"No, not really. The chief wants you at the scene and made a rather big show about not being able to get a hold of you. Provenza convinced Taylor you were already on your way to the crime scene, and send me out to find you. I thought that we could drive together, and well, that maybe, we could talk? – you know on the way."

She hummed, not necessarily agreeing yet he could not detect rejection in her gaze either.

"Unless you would rather drive by yourself?" he gave her a way out.

She shook her head. "That's not necessary." She paused. "What about your car?"

"I took a cab here," he said as he gave a half-hearted shrug.

Andy had up to a certain point tried his damn best to keep things professional between the two of them, but despite his best intentions, they always seemed to balance on a thin line between coworkers, friends and something vaguely undefined.

A small, recognizable part of him relished in seeing her wearing only a swimming suit, half-naked and out of the office. There was a becoming reddish sheen on her cheeks accompanied by her chest that rose and fell as she breathed a little heavier than usual. Her figure was fully exposed to him, from rounded hips to pale dotted freckles across her shoulders. It felt like an invitation into a more complex section of their acquaintance seeing her like this. Thankfully a much larger part of him kept his eyes far from noticing anything beyond a cursory glance, keeping in mind that even if his eyes wandered across what could be hardened nipples behind the purple of her swimsuit, it wouldn't do any good to linger on that image.

"Let's get coffee on the way then, I could do with something warm and caffeinated-"

"Sure," Andy nodded, happy and eager to comply with any of her wishes.

Sharon continued, "-, I have a bag with a change of clothes in my trunk, so I can change by the car. It won't take long." She toweled dry as she spoke, her hair bouncing around her shoulders in an uncharacteristically unruly fashion, he was curiously fascinated by it.

Andy grunted for a reply, trying not to imagine her changing her clothes.

"You have the details? And the address?"

"Yeah, all plotted into my phone's gps. Should not take too long to get there – baring traffic of course."

She hummed.

Purple suited her, Andy thought, a strange tension arising in his body the more he looked at her. His phone was still clutched in his hand akin to a stress ball, his knuckles white from the tight grasp.

She picked up her sandals, the towel firmly around her middle.

"Did Provenza say more about the explosion and the body?"

If he forgot the swimsuit she was wearing, the wind that swept past with the scent of the sea and the warm sand against the soles of his feet, it was almost like they were back at the office in full on work mode. In some ways, it was a blessing, and in other ways, he figured it made it harder to get anything personal into the mix.

"Not much no, though he did say something about some missing material. The bomb squad is still on scene, looking through everything. They will be able to tell more, I'm sure."

"So, the bomb was supposed to go off – or?"

Andy shrugged, "Might've been an accident."

They were both silent as they moved up from the edge of the beach, treading through sand and up toward the parking lot that lay beyond a crest of bushes.

"Do you come here a lot? For swimming, I mean." Andy asked her as they walked side by side.

She hummed again and when he looked sideways, their gaze connected and her lips curved into a smile. It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. He felt his heart skip a beat.

"I am sorry about what I said yesterday, you know," Andy blurted out, taken in by the smile and the appearance of mirth in her eyes. The moment the words left, he felt his throat tighten up.

The smile waned almost instantly, a veil of professionalism appearing.

"Oh, don't worry about it, it's all forgotten," she said in a no-nonsense tone.

"Oh… okay," he cleared his throat, feeling a need to fully apologize even if it made him look like a big idiot. "Still, you know, I'm sorry I said anything, wasn't my place to tell you."

"Andy," she said, his name rolling off her tongue with a little tinge of pique, "really, it's okay, it's in the past."

He nodded, even if he didn't fully believe her, "I just wanted you to know."

She smiled dismissively and he knew it was the end of that conversation.

"Maybe you can find a café on route to the crime scene while I change?" she asked him, closing the topic for good.

"On it," Andy nodded eagerly as he unlocked his phone and started searching for a suitable place. She gave him a pointed look, her hand on the trunk of the car. Feeling embarrassed, he quickly averted his gaze, the sound of the trunk of her car opening. Maybe the atmosphere would ease up in the car.

 **/2/**

 _Once, loneliness bared its teeth._

Sharon assumed the façade of police captain with ease, her features becoming impassive as she drove through the city. Andy followed her lead, his own expression neutral as he steered his thoughts towards the case at hand as well. However much they both tried, a strange tension hung between them, unresolved. Not even a good roast of coffee made it disappear, the lukewarm coffee in the Styrofoam holder tasting stale now. Nor did any amount of talking smooth things over and lift the tension. In the end, silence seemed a better option.

The long row of parked police cars and bomb squad vans, sirens still flashing ominously under the glare of the midday sun, seemed completely out of place with the ordinate artificially-planted front lawn and the pale two story suburban house that was already cordoned off. The blast radius had to be contained to the inside of the building, or the back yard, seeing that nothing seemed particularly amiss at the front side. Excepting the heavy police presence that soiled the polished façade of course. It looked more surreal than it looked criminal, Andy thought.

Following the Captain out of the parked car and across the street, Andy greeted the small gathering of people with a simple nod, the familiar sight of Provenza with his white hat in the midst was a calming sight. Just as Andy psyched himself that this was like every other case and that eventually the tension between him and Sharon would disappear, that he simply had to rely on routine and do his job, one of the bomb squad detectives broke from the group. A tall man with wavy blonde hair and a boisterous smile as he held his helmet under one arm. The large intimate smile was directed at no other than Sharon. It abruptly threw Andy's equilibrium right off.

"Sharon," the man said in a familiar tone as he came to stand well within her personal space.

For a short second, it seemed as if the man wanted to greet the Captain with a hug, or some other form of intimacy, but instead the idiot opted for another charming smile. It was not really a surprise that occasionally someone would pay attention to Sharon; Andy couldn't blame them, she was a beautiful woman. Usually it was lawyers from the DA's office or scumbags in interview rooms. This was very different. The two obviously had a shared past, that much Andy could tell from the look they shared.

It became even clearer when Sharon greeted the man with the same warm tone.

"Martin," she said, happy surprise in her tone. Her whole expression had changed the moment she saw the other man, her professional mask evaporating as she appraised the other man.

Seldom did a name invoke a taste of absolute pungency in Andy's mouth, but the way Sharon greeted the head of the bomb squad unit did the job effortlessly.

"What are you doing here?" Sharon asked the man with a wide-beaming smile, "I thought you were still with the NYPD?"

"I moved here a couple of months back," the idiot smiled back, his teeth glaringly white.

However much Andy tried to shrug the encounter off, the bad taste did not disappear. If anything, it only ripened and spread throughout his body, centering in his upper abdomen as ' _Martin_ ' and his group of bomb squad goonies showed everyone through the house. The explosion had been an accidental blow-up, the perpetrator wasn't a professional and most likely worked with someone else. Andy lingered in the background of the group, his eyes focused on Sharon. Martin and his group had found receipts that suggested there was enough material to make more bombs, but it was no longer in the house. SID intervened with their preliminary report.

Andy could hardly focus, his notebook blank but for a doodle as he pretended to write something down.

Maybe, he tried to fool himself, he was merely annoyed by the fact that she was flirting so overtly. Not that he had any claim on her but seeing her flirt with another man, without any restraints, her smile large and carefree for a split second, it tore through him. She was, in its bare essence, the forbidden fruit.

It had a certain biblical ring to it and if he followed the bible's images, she was an apple, ripe and golden, glistening and beckoning as it hung on the proverbial tree, not meant to be plucked or eaten by mere humans, and, in this case, certainly not by him. Whereas the bible would have him think of apples, this was not what sprung up in his mind, instead it was some undefined fruit without a name and without any clear shape, but with a very definite, clear taste. A flavor full of enticement; sweet and light. And the fruit meat was a deep, warm color; joyous and appetizing.

In the course of the last couple of years, fascination of her had snuck up on him, lingering beneath his skin and growing till one day he found that he had come to think of her as more than simply his Captain. They shared a curious bond on the precipice to becoming something more than simply colleagues. What that 'more' was, eluded him.

She was as forbidden as they came; married _and_ his superior. The first he could easily turn a blind eye to, it was not, after all, a happy or traditional marriage. It only existed on paper, and yet, here she was decades after the separation and she was still married to the asshole. It puzzled Andy.

However, unlike the existence of Jack, which could easily be forgotten and swept under a figurative rug, the second barrier was not something he could easily maneuver his thoughts around. During the day he could rationalize it, he could stay professional. The moment loneliness crept in under his pores at night; his bed felt unwelcome, too spacious for only one body, and rationality became swept away by wishful thinking. At first it was only small scenarios, but then it evolved and grew, and one night he found himself with his hand around his member, reaching orgasm as he thought about her. It had overcome him, the intensity of it as he worked himself toward orgasm, but in the moments after he came, he felt empty and strangely ashamed.

"Andy?" a voice questioned him, interrupting his depressing train of thoughts.

"Huh?" Andy looked up and caught Sharon looking at him, her head tilted and a strange enquiring look in her eyes.

It was easier to think of her as simply his Captain; no loopholes, no what-if's, no daydreams. She was his Captain, and sometimes friend. There were no grey areas for him to misinterpret.

"Flynn!" Provenza interrupted Sharon as he gestured to the hallway of the house, his voice reproachful. "The Captain asked you to coordinate the canvassing of the neighborhood."

"Sure, sure," Andy nodded and then flipped to another page in his notebook, avoiding looking at anyone in general as he headed out to the hallway.

The root of everything miserable, he mused darkly, was loneliness.

 **/3/**

 _Once, death said hello._

Unblinking she watched the small rectangular display, the flashing red dots connected into numbers, counting down as time moved in an orderly fashion very much in the contrast to the chaotic turn her inner world had taken. The cellar seemed to fall in on itself, appearing smaller than it was, the air stuffy with fear. The structure of it, cement and unforgiving, gave off a suffocating taste.

"I guess we should have accounted for this," Andy commented. The lieutenant was staring doggedly at the grey door that barred them from freedom, its silver framework not unlike a door into an old freezer storage, was locked from the outside. A drop of sweat traced a languid trail down the side of his temple, his brown eyes focused entirely on the door and the grimace that spread across his face looking pained.

The cellar room was uncomfortably warm like a sauna, enveloping them in a drenching humidity as they huddled in an airtight room, trapped with expanding panic as the clock unerringly ticked second after second off their impending explosive death.

Sharon could taste her own sweat; salt laced in an undertone of panic. The small droplets accumulating as they made their own little cycle of existence on her skin; trembling they came into existence, born like a bubble of darkness descending at night, lingering until gravity pulled the beads into motion. She could taste her entire life in her sweat when she unconsciously slipped her tongue out and wetted her upper lip. She felt very small, like an impossible thin cord being pulled from every side by an unimaginable number of small malevolent creatures.

"Should have become a bomb boy," Andy spilled out, his voice sounding crazed. At times communication flowed freely between them, and at other times, in desperate small moments of uncertainty, there was a wall between them, invisible and imaginary but solid like a column of cement. In the last twenty minutes, they had been on completely different frequencies, and she could not find the energy to reach out and tune it.

The countdown reached the five minute mark.

"You know, I've thought about retiring once or twice," Andy continued to talk, his gaze drawn almost hypnotically to the door, his hands braced on the handle that did not budge, "Nicole wanted to invite me up north this weekend, you know. Family fun, relaxing and all that jazz. I could've been swimming in the pool with the grandkids right now -,"

Sharon only listened to him with half an ear.

The bomb display did not give way to uncertainty. She found some relief in simply watching it, one number replacing another, not deterred by fear. It was cold, calm logic in the middle of a tumultuous sea of entropy. Andy's voice lingered in the background like white noise.

"90 hours of overtime – hell, I could have taken time off easily."

For two hours she had kept her calm. Two hours of adrenaline coursing through her body at maximum speed, imbuing life into every cell and nerve fiber in her body, working towards a simply goal; to get out alive. Two hours of banging on the door and pipes hoping someone would hear the noise. It was all for nothing. Two hours of trying to unscrew the bolts from the vent even if the ventilation shaft was too small to fit through. Nothing. Two hours of trying to understand the makings of the bomb, wondering if they could somehow dismantle it, tenderly touching wires with their hands shaking. It was all for nothing.

Two hours for nothing.

"She's used to me disappointing her, you know. It'll just be like every other time."

They would be blown apart and dispersed across the room, a grotesque painting of bone, marrow and blood. No way to tell them apart. She'd seen it before, and she had no trouble imagining it now. The vision of it swam before her eyes, strikingly clear as if it had already happened, the smell of burnt flesh edging into her nostrils. If she wasn't already seated, her legs would have wobbled beneath her and given out at the sudden realization that death was fast approaching, closing in on her. Her body sunk onto the cold cement floor, fear weighing her down as it made its all-consuming presence known.

"Andy," she croaked when the timer reached 3 minutes.

She didn't hear a response.

"Andy," she said in a louder tone. "I can't breathe."

It must have snapped him out of his trance, because he moved away from the door and came to sit by her side. Shaking, his hands found hers and he held onto her with a tightness, a desperation, that said more than words ever could.

"I'm here," he rasped out, his own fear in full display, "I'm sorry."

His voice centered her like an anchor, its heavy weight striking through her own haze. Instead of the count down, she looked away and focused on her lieutenant, her friend. She did not see much, but she saw his eyes and she fully focused on them. They were constant, she thought. Not in flux, not changing. They were brown, and they would remain brown. In them she saw the entire spectrum of her own existence mirrored, her own panic and her own surrender.

"I'm here," he repeated, his hands tightening around hers, their fingers interlaced till the point where it hurt.

"We'll just breathe slow, right?" he said while he nodded. The sentence however lacked his usual confidence, his focus wavering as he looked sideways at the bomb.

She held more firmly onto his hands, pulled him closer to her.

"Yes," she told him. "Slow."

Together they slowed down their breaths and held onto each other. Silence was palpable, her own heartbeat noticeable, life still pulsating through her body.

"I'm here for you," Andy told her, his hands shaking in hers. "Always."

"Always?"

His mouth moved wordlessly, trembling, into a smile.

She could feel a tear form in the corner of her eyes, itching, threatening to breach the rim and burst into many more.

They took a deep inhalation together, and she made sure to keep her eyes on his. Death seemed certain, inevitable, and all she could do was focus on her breathing and the warm hands enveloped in her own.

When the marker passed the two minute mark, the metal door came off its hinges, the loud commotion breaking through some of the fear. It was like a lucid dream; two bomb squad detectives came through the door, encased in full gear and shouting. Their voices muffled behind their helmets. She could hardly comprehend what happened next, her feet shaking as Andy pulled her up from the ground and half-carried her outside the cellar. Even in the ensuing aftermath, she couldn't erase the taste of fear entirely.

She ran hand in hand with Andy, the bomb squad men shielding them as they hurried through the deserted building complex, trying to make it as far away from the explosion as possible. The explosion made a ruin of the complex.

Now, sitting in the back of an ambulance, watching the ruin with smoke billowing into the sky in ominous dark plumes, she still couldn't believe it. It felt like someone had fast-forwarded her into safety, but in her mind she lay half-buried under the rubble, blown into unrecognizable pieces.

She still held onto Andy's hand, tightly, and she was afraid to let go. Eventually the fear would reside, she reasoned. But, for the time being, she sought out the contact, calmed by the fact that he seemed to be equally out of it.

 **/4/**

 _Once, time slept._

Water enveloped her in a fugue state, warm and soothing as it cascaded down over her body, reality was altered into a sphere of carefree safety as long as she stood under the spray of water. Her legs barely held her up, and so far all that truly did hold her together, was focusing on small familiar tasks. Folding her clothes, stepping into the shower, letting the water submerge her, shampoo bottle in her hand, squirt it into her hand. Keeping focus of easing shampoo into her hair, she kept obtrusive thoughts at bay.

She ended up washing her hair three times, anxious to get the smell of smoke out of it.

The scent of Andy's shampoo wafted around her, sandalwood and solid, and she supposed on any other day, she would have lingered on why it felt homely. Today, she focused on the warm water and the scent of the shampoo, combining and coming together to wash away the essence of fear that still lingered beneath her skin, like small invisible fragments of glass, embedded painfully into her flesh.

Time had no direction as she stood under the spray. Of course time was still moving, she knew, seconds turning into minutes at a well-defined pace, but somehow it felt like time stood still, caught frozen between two moments. It felt impassive. Like a long indrawn breath put on an indefinite hold, waiting for the world to turn again, waiting for the sun to reappear. It was a second stretched till it became impossibly thin and lost all meaning.

It suited her well.

With no pressure of time ticking away and with no need to keep up appearance, the day felt almost tolerable as the warm water ran down her body. She let out a sigh of relief. She shuddered and let out a different sigh, one that bore more resemblance to a cry. She bent her head and felt the spray on her neck, slowly massaging the tension away between her shoulder blades. Any tears she shed were quickly washed away and left no trace behind. It was a small blessing.

Stepping out from the shower stall, she toweled dry while avoiding her own reflection in the mirror. She put on her own underwear and then the t-shirt Andy had put on the counter for her, the well-worn cotton soft against her skin. It smelled of fresh detergent, a scent she was familiar with from a few off-duty get-togethers. Distinctly the scent of her lieutenant; familiar and intense. Looking around, she found a bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, wooly and long. She debated it for only a second, before she threw caution away and put the heavy bathrobe on, the material warm and insulating. It reached well below her knees and covered her legs. Even if she felt somewhat at ease, she did not feel that comfortable walking around half naked in someone else's apartment and certainly not her lieutenant's home.

Darkness had long since descended and even if it went against rationality, there was something calming about the permeating darkness. It swept around her like a hot and sweltering blanket, infusing a fatiguing, but content feeling into her bone and marrow.

Andy's apartment was eerily silent and unfamiliar, and as she stepped out into the hallway she could hear the echo of the bathroom door opening and closing. Listening closely, it was only her own uncertainty she could hear, palpable as her heart beat against her chest. The master bedroom was right across from the bathroom, the door half open and with new, fresh sheets.

A feeling she dared not describe, or linger on, had her avoiding the bedroom. Instead she walked in the direction of the living room and the sofa she knew Andy was bunking on. She found her lieutenant sitting on the sofa and staring absently off into space with the television turned on in the background.

Andy looked at her when she came into the room, surprise at seeing her and then he smiled. Lukewarm at best. She didn't fault him, there was little to smile about for the time being.

"Are you sure, you don't want to sleep in your own bed?" she asked him for the umpteenth time as she fiddled with the slightly frayed end of the bathrobe belt. She was not entirely comfortable with that fact that she was throwing him out of his own bedroom.

"The sofa is fine. I want you to have the bed."

"You are certain?"

"I am."

Indecisive, she remained in the living room, her eyes going to the television and what appeared to be an action movie. The sound was muted and it seemed at odds with the scene of a high speed car chase.

"Are you alright?" Andy asked her carefully when she had stood quietly for an abnormally long time, silence having stretched till the point where she was startled at his voice.

She looked back at him, his expression one of concern. She only gave a nod, not trusting her voice.

"Hell of a day, huh," he commented, his eyes still on her, an intense look that seemed to go beneath her skin, delving into her thoughts. It swept into those wounds where panic had burrowed deep, edging free what she had suppressed the moment his eyes connected with hers, his tenderness surprising her.

Her throat closed up and she had to suppress the need to cry. It was too raw; too soon. It must have been clear to Andy, because before she knew it, he had left the sofa and stood before her, his arms open as he waited for her.

Avoiding his eyes and without much thought, she fell into his embrace. Closing her eyes, she was enveloped by the warmth and scent of him, even stronger that what came from his t-shirt or shampoo, cocooning her in comfort.

She could feel his hand on her back, modestly between her shoulder blades and only venturing a tiny bit lower, shaking as he somewhat shyly circled her back in a soft-featherlike caress. His breath was warm against the top of her head, and she felt how he breathed out shakily, as if he too had been nervous and on the verge of crying.

They stood encased in a world where time became trancelike as if reality was a tapestry being spun around them, as if they were in a dream. Sharon turned her head sideways, her cheek resting against Andy's chest. The gentle thud-thud of his heart was soothing in its regularity, a singularity she could focus her attention on. It felt like closure to her; an end to a nightmarish day.

The intimacy of being enveloped by his arms was encompassing. It sung to her; the warmth of his body and the rhythmic heart beating in low, tender tones. It was a comforting sound of life as she dwelled deeper into the embrace, her own arms tightened around his middle. She let out a breath from deep in her lungs, fear finally being expelled and instead replaced by exhaustion. Her limbs became even more languid and she felt on the cusp of falling asleep.

Little by little, her weariness faded and reality nestled a thread into her consciousness. She began to think that maybe it was best to disentangle herself, to put some distance between them. With a silent sigh, she let go of the embrace, but as she looked up with a smile ready on her lips to say goodnight, the look she met from him stopped her. There was a question behind his eyes, one she dared not answer.

For a very small moment, a moment of weakness on her part, she let herself gravitate toward him again, a dream and hope combining with a tint of anticipation. She felt his hand come to rest under her chin, his thumb tracing a tentative pattern on her cheek before he pushed a tendril of her hair behind her ear. It was a small intimate gesture, meant to convey comfort. It was, however, a fast route to warmth inside her chest, tendrils of heat coalescing and expanding. An envoy of things, feelings, she was not ready for.

She had a split second to decide between reality and dream, her thoughts coming to a standstill around the form of his mouth as he moved in, tilted his head and came nearer.

It was a short kiss.

The echo of it however lasted into the early morning.

…

Hope you liked it =)

The end.


End file.
